Miracles Make Enemies
by Life's scar
Summary: Then his mind traveled another few hundred miles to his worn out father, smiling what use to be a rare smile, a glass of brandy held in his hand as he caught up with long lost family members.


**Title:** Miracles Make Enemies

**Rating:** Pg-13/R

**Disclaimer: **If it reached the point of this story the series would be over. There'd be a lot my explaining of their injuries if I owned the damn thing.

**Warning:** Uhm… angst, depression, misused alcohol.

**Pairing**: Gen, but the end can be taken much differently; innocent minds can stay innocent though.

**Word Count:** 2987

**A/N:** Thanks to Kam for her insightful and very amusing corrections of my babbling; according to her my plot had a small head on collision. This is a _Post-Series _short story. Basically what could happen once the demon is dead.

**Summary:** Then his mind traveled another few hundred miles to his worn out father, smiling what use to be a rare smile, a glass of brandy held in his hand as he caught up with long lost family members; enjoying his second chance at life now that his thirst for vengeance had been quenched.

_Miracles Make Enemies_

The hotel room was dark and cold; every light turned off, blinds closed tight and the poor, old A.C. unit trying its damnedest to reach the sixty degrees it had been set to. Dean's body shivered, sitting directly in the path of the cold air, but he didn't acknowledge it. His mind was elsewhere as his hands clenched the glass of vodka. His mind was two hundred miles away, thinking of what Sam would be doing at this moment. Thinking of the image of him hunched over the laptop. It was a favored memory of his but he knew that Sam was no longer scourging the internet for information on their latest hunt; no, now it was fully focused on that sly case that would be perfect for the next term paper.

Then his mind traveled another few hundred miles to his worn out father, smiling what use to be a rare smile, a glass of brandy held in his hand as he caught up with long lost family members; enjoying his second chance at life now that his thirst for vengeance had been quenched. Resting on his brand new couch in his brand new home with a brand new life; the only sign of the previous life hanging on the wall; old pictures in new frames.

They had both gone back to their normal lives as if the past twenty years hadn't been spent in the shadows of life.

They returned to their normal lives but Dean couldn't. He couldn't even try. This was all he ever knew and he was dead in everyone else's eyes. By the rare phone call from his family he wasn't even sure if he was alive in their eyes. It had started with at least a call a week to make sure he was indeed still breathing then dwindled to a month and now, now he was lucky if he got one every few months as if he was some side note. Now, some estranged friend who wasn't worthy of more than a mere thought… a mere memory of something that should be forgotten. He gave it another year before it came to him receiving no calls from the only people he loved and any calls he made to them returned only if there was nothing else to do. His phone rang beside him only to be ignored for a few moments before he figured that he did need a new hunt so it wouldn't hurt to answer. He wasn't expecting to hear Sammy's voice on the other end but he kept his surprise hidden and muttered a meek hello and how have you been.

He sat there nodding his head and taking large gulps of the nearly straight vodka. He wasn't sure what he had mixed it with but it wasn't enough to take away the burn it brought down to his stomach but he liked it that way. He nodded and muttered yeahs and mhms and that's cool when he was suppose to and grinned when Sammy mentioned this girl that was in this class. Even joked about Sam finally getting some ass but he was only paying half attention, his mind too blurred for anything else. In the morning he'd remember what Sam had said and be happy that his little brother finally got the life he wanted and deserved; and he might even feel guilty for not paying attention on this rare occasion.

He was expecting Sammy to say something about needing to get to sleep for some big test after a few moments of silence once he had finished explaining his new life. He wasn't expecting to hear a soft sigh of sadness before that confident voice asked, "You okay, Dean? You don't sound so good."

Dean knew that Sam could tell he was drunk but that wasn't a new occurrence for either of them. They were both aware that Dean was on his way to becoming a full-fledged alcoholic but Dean never talked to Sam about that and Sam never brought it up with him; instead he just muttered softly, "Yeah, I'm fine, just tired."

He definitely wasn't expecting the next question that left Sam's lips, "Because of a hunt?"

In the two years that Dean had been doing this alone, in the two years that Sam and Dad had gone back to a nine to five lives, neither of them had asked about any of the hunts that Dean had been on. Neither of them bothered to even acknowledge the fact that he was still traveling the country; even went as far as to avoid the topic of gas prices which had always been a rant for every member of their small family. So he just mumbled a soft yeah as he looked down at his glass, spinning it softly.

A soft sigh then words were spoken from Sam, "Maybe you should take a break."

"And go where?" Dean asked, grabbing the bottle from beside him to pour another glass full.

"You could come stay with me… or with Dad. It would be no problem at all; you could even get a job."

"Oh for Christ sake, Sammy," he muttered, shaking his head and fighting down the urge to throw the glass or the bottle. "What could I do as a suspected killer who's dead?"

"Dean…" Sam said softly, interrupting him but the words he wanted to say were not there. What could he say when his brother only spoke the truth? What could he possibly say?

"What Sam?" Dean barked a little more harshly than he meant but for the moment he didn't care. It would be easier if he pushed Sam away then he wouldn't have to wonder when the next call would come. "No matter what I do one of these days Dean Winchester will be found alive and thrown in prison. I can't live under a fake name because when I've finally settled down it'll come crashing down. I can't go to a _normal _life like you and dad."

"Yes you can, Dean," Sam began, his hand clenching his phone tightly, "I only have a couple more years then I'm done… I could clear it up."

"I won't be here in a couple of years, Sam," Dean replied, eyes heavy and voice thick with an emptiness that Sam could not quite understand. Dean spoke the truth though and had not meant to hurt Sam; they just left his mouth. The fights were getting worse, the monsters stronger and him weaker.

Sam went to say his name again but Dean merely shook his head and closed his phone deciding to sleep rather than listen to the consequences of his words.

He didn't hear the phone ring again; his eyes closed as he passed out before the third ring much less the tenth voicemail.

When he finally woke late the next afternoon and the memories flooded his mind each of his words digging deep into his heart, twisting it in shame. He didn't sit to dwell on it though, no, instead he was packing and moving onto another nameless town where the prospects of something there were slim but it kept him moving. He couldn't afford to slow down just like he couldn't afford to listen to the voicemails that waited for him.

That night found him in a dingy hotel room, small thin fingers running down his body, tracing his muscles but he felt nothing as if he were in a haze. He did the decent thing and brought her off but his own release was nothing and he couldn't blame it on her not being attractive because she was, oh, was she ever.

So, when she was gone and he was left alone in that bleak darkness with no hope of any kind of company, any kind of companionship for more than a few hours ever few nights, he finally realized that now that he was alone he was searching for a reason for why he was here. Before, before they finally destroyed the thing that destroyed their wife, lover and childhood, everything he had done had been for either Sammy or Dad: protect Sammy, avenge Dad's loss, help Sam pay revenge for Jess, watch Dad's back. And now? Now, he tried to say that he did it to save lives, to help those in need but he wasn't that selfless. That was just an excuse because he didn't truly believe that nor was it the reason for why he lived life as a vague shadow it was because it was all he knew and without it he was nothing.

His chest was heavy as he turned onto his side, eyes squeezed shut. When would something come to hunt him? He's spent most of his life hunting the evils that occupy the deep underbelly of this world; killing everything that was in his path and had even taken innocent lives that his conscious could not mark off as freeing their tortured souls or for the sake of saving his family. Their faces haunted his dreams and he sometimes found himself waiting, wishing, hoping, for that angry creature to finally take _it's _vengeance out on him.

He heard about some crazy spirit attacking people in an abandoned hospital two towns over so that was his next stop; packed everything up to drive less than a hundred miles. When he finally found his way into the crumbling building he had a sudden, strange urge for Sam's eyes to be watching his back, large hands holding the video camera so they could see the heat when they couldn't see the being.

Come the second floor he didn't know what hit him, what had happened. The only thing he knew was his back was against concrete and his head had become something's basketball. He grunted, tried to kick out, tried to push it off of him but neither were working.

The next thing he knew he was opening his eyes to a dark room; the stench of sterilization in the air and he groaned. Loudly. He knew he was in a hospital, probably listed as Jane Joe number fifty just for laughs and kicks. Before he could think any farther he was felt someone's hands gripping his face, causing him to open his eyes again. Sam's face was staring down at him and he loud out a louder groan because Sammy was _not _suppose to be here… or anywhere near him anymore. He was suppose to be writing papers and drinking with friends and whatever else college people did in their spare time.

His hands swatted at Sam's weakly, trying to push him away because no _hunters _hands were suppose to be that smooth. Then again, Sammy wasn't a hunter anymore… and never wanted to be again.

Because he could run away.

"Shit, Dean, you scared us," and all he could do was roll his eyes, wondering how exactly Sammy had actually come to be by his bedside. He just waited a few more moments, feigning that he wasn't quite there enough to speak just yet because knowing Sammy, he would explain it. "I just found where you were, fuck, it threw you out a damn window."

Oh, was all that seemed to cross his mind because he didn't remember falling from any window; all he remembered was climbing up stairs, gripping onto the railings and wall for dear life because the hell if half the steps weren't missing. He hoped that it had only been the second story he had fallen from and that whatever had decided he was their play toy hadn't decided to drag him up a few more floors before tossing him aside like a rag doll.

He smiled softly in spite of himself because even if Sammy's hands weren't very comforting on his face they felt safe when they were on his shoulders or his arm or gripping his hand. "The doctors said that you might have jumped… but I don't think you would... though I'm not so sure with the last conversation we had."

"Oh fuck you," Dean mumbled and shook his head when he heard Sam laughing softly.

"Knew that get a rise out of you," Sam mumbled softly, "Though I tried to tell you that your dick was small last week but that didn't wake you up one bit… didn't even make you twitch. Worried me there."

"Whatever," Dean mumbled, moving to turn on his side before his eyes darted open and he was staring at Sam, "A week?"

"No, you were out for three Dean." Sam replied, his voice going cold as he shook his head. "Dean..."

"Not this conversation again," Dean nearly barked, trying to take on the tone their father had always held.

"No," Sam said and Dean had to fight down the giggle because that sure did seem like the voice Sam acquired when their dad ordered him around, "You're exhausted Dean. You need a break, badly. You'd never have let some low level, bastard of a demon get the better of you if you were top shape… and you've lost weight."

"Demon?" Dean asked, before shaking his head choosing to ignore Sam's point at all.

"You didn't know?" Sam asked, shaking his head, "Another fucking reason you need a break. Going in there blind? Didn't you smell _it _?" He looked at Dean for a moment before shaking his head, "Whatever, Dean, just come home with me… just for a little bit."

"Sam," Dean mumbled, letting his eyes slip shut before opening them to the sound of the door opening. For a moment all he saw was a dark, shadowy form in the doorway and he was trying to sit up because for just that moment he thought the demon was back and those bullets hadn't really done anything to it except for slow it down. And then Dad's face was illuminated by the light in the hallway and he was letting out a deep sigh of relief.

Another month down the line, once his bones were nearly healed and he was getting too use to Sam's comfortable guest bed, he told Sam he was leaving again. He already had his car packed and ready to go and had planned on leaving before Sam got back from classes but he couldn't find it in him to leave without saying goodbye… he needed to be on good terms with him.

At least that's what he told himself even though he knew that it probably wouldn't be on the best terms after he pissed Sam off enough to let him leave.

Sam had come home late that night though; Dean had waited up the whole time as well, waiting to say goodbye. When the door opened with a loud bang and he heard Sam's drunken call of his name he could do nothing more than sigh.

That night when he had thought he was helping Sam into bed, thought he was helping his little brother up stairs before he landed flat on his ass but as soon as they reached his doorway Dean was shoved into the wall, large hands gripping his wrist tightly as he mumbled then screamed and then mumbled at him again, things he didn't understand. He tried to struggle against Sam; tried to break the bruising grip on his wrists but Sam had found some hidden strength in the whiskey that stained his breath.

He soon found himself thrown on Sam's bed, hands cuffed to the bed, his head aching from Sam's head hitting his and old wounds from his previous stunt in the hospital and all he could find himself thinking was that he hadn't realized Sammy had a kinky side that included handcuffs hidden under his bed; and for even a shorter moment he wondered if that pretty little girl Sam had been seeing had allowed him to use them on her but he quickly banished the thought because it _really _wasn't important at this moment.

That night he stayed cuffed to that soft bed until he promised Sam he wouldn't leave, not to hunt at least, and after that, after he finished promising that he wouldn't, he finally got the reason why. Sam finally explained to him why he couldn't leave and why he was being held to the bed.

Because in the middle of a class Sam got a head splitting vision of Dean dying all alone, in some unknown place on some generic motel bed and no one was coming for him. No one would come because no one knew. While he clenched his head, trying to keep quiet so no one around him would cast curious glances at him, he watched as Dean's body decayed until an angry clerk came pounding on his door and then later when the manager unlocked it and they were greeted by his stench and then how he was buried in a lone plot in a small graveyard with nothing but a small, metal plaque to mark that he had ever lived.

If Dean had left he would have died because Sammy's visions were never long-term.

Two years later, Sammy was an attorney and Dean was working as a partner in his Dad's garage, using his true name because Sammy had told him it would be better to play ignorant to the charges on that name so they could write it off.

Every once and a while Dean would still get calls, sometimes from other hunters and friends he had met and sometimes from people who needed his help. He gave what little information he knew to the hunters and redirected those troubled souls to someone who could help them; yet, he still slept with a sharp knife under his pillow waiting for that day for something to come hunting him down because nothing slept forever.

The End

Kay  
-2987

A/N: So the ending came from nowhere. Honestly, came from thin air but it seems decent enough for the story.

It's taken me a while to write this small amount of words; reworking things and trying to figure out exactly where it was going. I hope some of you enjoy it.

I might write a sort of spin-off for the ending scene because it unintentionally carries some very big slash innuendos so if I feel up to picking up the whole slash/pwp pen again I might.

Thank you for any comments.


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